


What Music They Make

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blood, Dracula AU, Epistolary, M/M, Mild Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:04:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dracula AU based on Bram Stoker's novel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is mainly based on the novel rather than any film or TV series, but it will deviate from the book at some point. It will be also be written wholly in epistolary form.
> 
> This was started on my tumblr (lachatblanche.tumblr.com) and will continue to be updated there before I upload the chapters here.

My dearest Charles, 

I cannot tell you how glad I was to have received your last letter. After the trouble we have had of late in receiving each other’s correspondence, I had almost given up entirely on hearing from you until after I returned – which, as you know, will not be for several weeks yet. I confess that I had, prior to the arrival of your missive, prepared myself for a thoroughly unhappy time here, feeling robbed of your words and wit and intelligence in the most disappointing way.

Perhaps you too were suffering from a similar sort of feeling as I, for I seem to find that your latest letter does not contain the usual spark of brightness that usually infuses your correspondence so very strongly. I therefore hope that you will not find me too tiresome if I take a moment to try to quiet any fears that you may have on my behalf and to take the opportunity to once again express my deepest affection for you. Do not fear that because I am afar in exotic lands that I have forgotten you, dear Charles – on the contrary, I think of you all too often as I travel through Genosha, and I have frequent cause to lament that you could not join me in my excursions through this delightful, savage country. I think often of how you would delight and marvel over each and every discovery we would make together – be it of plant or animal or human custom – and of how your enthusiasm and intelligence (qualities of yours that I love almost as dearly as your beloved eyes!) would be at their height in such a fertile environment. Would that your sister had been in the best of health at the time of my departure – then you could have been at my side and we could have uncovered the secrets of this wondrous place together, as we had both of us intended. 

While on the subject of dear Raven, I must tell you that I was much gladdened to hear that she is now on her way to recovery following her lengthy illness. I have no doubt that it is solely through your own most excellent and dedicated efforts that she now flourishes. Truly, she is lucky to have you by her side.

I fear that I must now do you a disservice by breaking off in my writing: the porter calls to tell me that my train arrives, and I cannot risk missing it, what with the next departure being two days from now. Do not be anxious for me, my dear Charles – I know that you worry for me and consider me far too trusting and naïve to travel alone, but as you can see I have so far acquitted myself quite well; you truly have no cause for concern. 

I await your next missive with eagerness, as always.

Your most affectionate and devoted friend,

 

Henry McCoy

*****

My dear Charles,

I was most pleased to hear about your dear sister’s recovery. I am glad that your good sense took the two of you to the coast for her convalescence. To be sure, if there is anything to spur on your sister’s good health then it is a trip to the coast: there is nothing that the sea air will not cure!

I myself am in the best of health. I know, however, that you have been anxious about my solitude whilst on my travels, and so I am sure that you will be glad to hear that I have made a friend of sorts while in Genosha. Well – in all honesty I cannot claim him as a friend; indeed, he is not even an acquaintance as yet, strictly speaking, but I cannot help but hope that this will change in due time.

You see, dear Charles, I have been asked to dine with a gentleman by the name of Lehnsherr at his house tomorrow evening. It seems that he is a student of science like you and I, and has come across my name more than once in various scientific journals and monographs. It was he who first made the introduction by letter, and we have been corresponding ever since. We write to each other often – almost as frequently as I write to you, dear Charles. He appears a very intelligent man who genuinely appreciates my research – indeed, Charles, I would even go so far as to say that I have an admirer! Do not worry yourself unduly, however – his admiration is a purely scientific one and even if it were not it would scarcely matter: you and I both know that there is only one person on this earth who bears the whole of my affections. 

I can think of no better way to sign off, so I shall leave it at that: with a renewed expression of my deepest fondness and admiration.

Yours,

 

Henry McCoy

*****

Dear Charles,

My sincerest apologies for the lateness of my reply. My only excuse is that I find myself constantly engaged these days. You see, I have begun to spend a great deal of time with Mr. Lehnsherr (or Erik, as he insists I call him, although I fear I lack the boldness to, at times) and we have become fast friends. He is a very intelligent man, and although he has not the gift for scientific research that you or I possess, he is nevertheless more quick to understand my words than any other layman that I have encountered. 

You, I think, would like him very much indeed, Charles. You are my better when it comes to social intercourse and I am sure that Mr. Lehnsherr would be a fine conversationalist if I had but the ability – and the confidence – to engage him in such a way. As it is, our main subject of conversation is my research … and, oddly enough, _you_ , Charles. It is clear that he came across your name in the same journals in which he found mine, and there is no doubt that he was greatly impressed by your work. Indeed, Erik was much pleased to hear of our acquaintance, although I must add that he appeared to be slightly perturbed by our engagement – clearly society in Genosha is not yet so evolved as to understand the nature of such relationships. 

You mustn’t judge him too harshly though, Charles – in all other areas Mr. Lehnsherr is nothing but enlightened and, if his traditions may seem odd to you or I, it is because of the impact of his foreign ancestry, which no doubt entrenched his formative years in beliefs and prejudices that appear impractical to you and I. As a member of the aristocracy (I forget what his title is exactly – you know I have no head for such things, Charles), I am sure that Mr. Lehnsherr would have been particularly exposed to such narrow and limiting views.

I confess though, Charles – there are moments when I look at Erik – Mr. Lehnsherr – that I completely forget that he is at all part of the civilised nobility. There is a power about him … some hidden strength that he conceals behind a vast intelligence and impeccable manners. Sometimes, when he looks over at me I believe I see a savagery in his eyes, a blazing inferno that I cannot altogether decipher – is it anger? Is it jealousy? But then why should he be angry at me – or indeed jealous? I cannot understand it. Is it … hunger? 

… Forgive me – my mind wandered. Of course I am imagining it. You know better than most that I am sadly disadvantaged when it comes to understanding the emotions of others. I am quite certain that all I saw was the reflection of candlelight in the eye of my host. We always meet after dark, you see – it is convenient for both of us and has become something of a habit of ours.

That reminds me of another one of our friend’s quirks – his appetite. Although we meet for dinner on most nights, I confess that I scarcely see him eat. He always picks at his food, as if he finds it unappetising – when, on the contrary, I can assure you that the fare is some of the best that I have ever tasted. When asked, he always replies that he is not hungry and that he has never had much of an appetite. I must say, I believe him – he covers it well, but one look at the size of his waist would convince anyone of this. Perhaps he is troubled by some sort of dietary ailment … I shall try to enquire as discreetly as possible and discover the truth. Imagine, Charles, if I could help him – what happiness it would be to be able to help a friend in such a way!

Such words are perhaps more suited to your mouth than mine, Charles, but I hope you take them as proof that you are constantly in my thoughts and that I hold you and your opinions in the highest of regards.

I remain, as always, your most cherished and devoted friend,

 

Henry McCoy

*****

Dearest Charles,

I know that you cannot have yet received my last correspondence but I nevertheless write fast on the heels of my last missive in hopes that I catch you before your next letter is sent. I only wish to say that you will no longer find me lodged at the villa from here on – my dear friend, Mr. Lehnsherr (or perhaps “colleague” is now a better label for our relationship, based as it is on our mutual regard for scientific innovation) has kindly invited me to stay with him in his manor, and – you will be proud of me for being so bold, Charles – I have accepted his offer. I move in this very evening. You will find the address below – I copied it painstakingly, so that you will not be confused by my clumsy letters.

Of course, you know me well enough to understand that such a move into unknown territory makes me anxious – unlike you, I have never willingly courted company and in accepting Mr. Lehnsherr’s invitation I have set myself the daunting task of being constantly interesting and amiable to my host. However, I set out on this venture with the express desire of testing my boundaries and not shying away from either adventure or scientific discovery – and so here I find myself, on the cusp of lodging with a new acquaintance in a foreign land! Am I not adventurous, Charles?

I hope you are proud of me, at least a little. 

Yours affectionately,

 

Henry


	2. Chapter 2

Dearest Moira,

I hope this letter finds you well and in the best of spirits. I cannot, unfortunately, say the same for myself. I am well aware that it has been a long time since we last corresponded and although it grieves me that I must reach out to you in the way that I am rather than simply as a warm, affectionate friend, I find myself in the middle of a most unusual position and I am afraid that I have no one else to turn to.

You know, of course, of my engagement to Henry McCoy, a well-respected scientist and my some-time colleague at the university. You have even met him on a few occasions, I believe, although I do not think that you spent a great deal of time together. The reason I bring this up, dear Moira, is because it is for Henry’s sake that I am reaching out to you now. 

Hank (as I have taken to calling him when it is just the two of us) has been abroad for some time now, travelling afar and seeking to discover new flora and fauna that are unknown to us here. You might know that I had intended to go with him – travel has always been of interest to me and I was eager to join him on his excursion. Alas, mere days before we were due to set off, my sister Raven contracted a fever and derailed our plans. I refused to leave her side, for I feared the worst. Hank was reluctant to leave without me but I forced him to: there was little point in both our plans being upset, after all.

Only now – now, dear Moira, I think that I made a mistake. You more than any other know how much I loathe admitting such a thing, but in this case – in this case I must speak plainly: I am fearful. For as long as Hank has been away, we have been corresponding. Scarcely a week goes by without my receiving a letter from him, and vice versa. Only once did we lose touch but this was due to Hank’s haphazard movements and the poor delivery system in the more rural parts of Genosha. At all other times, however, our correspondence has been smooth and uninterrupted.

But now … Moira, it has been almost a month and I have not yet heard from him. I do not know what to do. I have written several letters but I cannot tell if they have reached or not. This time I can blame neither the delivery nor Hank’s travels, for he has, to the best of my knowledge, firmly situated himself in the Genoshan capital and has not removed himself from there. Indeed, the last I heard, Hank had accepted an invitation to lodge in the house of a certain Mr. Lehnsherr, and, at the time of his writing, was about to move into his new apartments. Could it be that this man has done something to Hank? Is he the reason why Henry no longer responds to me? Now, I know you well enough to have an idea of what you must be thinking, Moira, but I know Hank – his interest in Mr. Lehnsherr is purely cerebral, and even if it were not, Hank is a good man: he would tell me if things were unravelling between us instead of causing me concern in this way.

No, I am sure that something ill has befallen Henry. And that is why I write to you, Moira. Apart from needing the support and advice of a dear friend, I must plead with you to find out whatever information you can about this Mr. Erik Lehnsherr, a man of apparent Genoshan aristocratic stock and means. It is not something that you enjoy speaking of, I know, but I beg you to once more turn to those friends of yours who operate covertly and deal in such intelligence to find out everything you can on this man. Should Hank be in any sort of danger then it is best that we be prepared to face it with all possible tools at our disposal.

Once you have done so, I am afraid that I must once again ask another favour of you and request that you come to Westchester as soon as possible. I intend to set out for Genosha as soon as I receive your intelligence but I cannot in good conscience leave Raven alone – not so soon after her illness. It pains me to inconvenience you so very greatly, but please, Moira – I am in the unenviable position of abandoning one or the other of the two people that I hold dearest in the world when all I wish to do is cling all the tighter to the both of them. I should feel much better knowing that at least one of them had a friend at their side while I could not be.

That is all I shall say for now. Please respond with the utmost haste, my dear friend – with every day that passes I fear all the more for Hank’s well-being.

Yours in eternal gratitude,

Charles F. Xavier

*****

Dear Charles,

I was both shocked and grieved to hear of your Mr. McCoy’s abrupt disappearance. While I am sure that nothing ill has befallen him, I agree that one cannot leave such things to chance. Do not concern yourself with inconveniencing me – I shall do all I can to aid you. I have already started to make enquiries about your mysterious Mr. Lehnsherr and you may rest assured that you shall know everything there is to know about him in the next few days. As for myself, you need not worry – I shall join you at Westchester very shortly and watch over your sister for as long as it is necessary.

Do try to keep calm in the meantime, Charles. For all that I know no one calmer than you in the midst of a crisis, sometimes it is hard to predict how you will act. I understand your anxiety, but please – for my sake, and Raven’s – do not act rashly. Wait for my arrival before you depart for Genosha; we ought to discuss this matter in person. Please, Charles – promise me that you will wait.

Your friend,

Moira MacTaggart.

*****

Dear Charles

I have attached the relevant information on your Mr. Lehnsherr to this letter. As you can clearly see, there is not a great deal of it. We have little information on Genosha in general, and even less on its inhabitants. I have nevertheless employed all my wits and energies in doing as you have asked, and have found a number of points worthy of your notice.

Of your Mr. Lehnsherr we can generally divine two things: one, that he is a member of an ancient aristocratic line – although it must be said that we have no record of any sort of family tree in our possession. Two, that your Mr. Lehnsherr is an eccentric (note that I use the word ‘eccentric’ and not ‘madman’, which should give you some idea of the man’s wealth). He is apparently famed for many odd quirks and habits, the least of which is that he refuses to be seen in daylight. Some believe that he suffers from some form of rare skin disease. Others, however, believe in altogether more unsettling explanations. Although I do not believe these rumours for a second – they are, no doubt, the kind of idle speculation and gossip that spring up in such wild and little-inhabited areas of the world – one must not dismiss them entirely. After all, there is no smoke without fire, and I should find it preferable that you were armed with any knowledge that might be useful to you. I have therefore included some of the rumours surrounding the man in the attached brief for your perusal, in addition to the more factual information.

That is all that needs to be said for now. I send this letter ahead for I know that you are anxious for news, but I intend to follow it myself in a few days time. Please do wait for me, Charles. It is for the best that we talk before you do anything further. I appeal to your good sense rather than to your emotions, for I know of none other who can master themselves so well as you, and I am sure that you will see sense in my words.

I promise you – I shall join you very shortly.

Your faithful friend,

Moira

*****

Dearest Moira,

You are, by now, no doubt well aware of my departure from Westchester. The very fact that you are reading this letter is proof of it, placed as it was in the bedroom that you always occupy when visiting us. I had no need to post it, knowing as I did that you would not let me down in your promise of watching over Raven. I must apologise to you, Moira: I had every intention of waiting for you to arrive but your letter drove away what little patience I had left in me – I can wait no longer. Writing this letter is the very last thing that I shall do before I take my leave from Westchester and make my way to Genosha to find Hank.

I have read your last letter several times over and, no doubt, I shall read it a hundred times more in the next few days as I travel. What I have read troubles me. There is nothing in your intelligence that would suggest that Mr. Lehnsherr – or, I suppose I ought to say, _Count_ Lehnsherr – is anything but an ordinary man of wealth and rank, but I cannot shake the feeling that there is something more to him than we are aware of. Perhaps it is merely my fears for Hank that is at the heart of my misgivings, but even so, I cannot help but be wary of the man. The stories that you added to your letter were wild and fantastical – and of course I believe them not one whit – but you were right to say that there is no smoke without fire, Moira, and these rumours that surround Count Lehnsherr are nothing short of worrying. I hesitate to tar a man with the stains of idle gossip without having met him, but I simply do not have the luxury to be generous in my opinions at this moment – Hank’s life might depend on it.

I will write to you as often as I can, Moira, so that you will not worry and so that you will know I am safe. I know that I can trust you in all things, my dear, and that is why I entrust you with my most precious possession – my beloved sister. I need not ask you to care for Raven as you would your own relation – I know you will do so even without my asking it of you. Raven knows the nature of my quest, of course, but although it meets with her full approval, she will be greatly incensed with me, I fear, for she was eager to join me in my travels and demanded it of me. I, of course, rejected this at once – even were the journey not a potentially dangerous one, I would have refused her on the grounds of her poor health. You must watch her carefully, Moira – and let me know immediately if she is at all unwell. It is my greatest fear that she will succumb to illness while I am not by her side.

Do not fear for me, Moira. I travel to Genosha with my eyes wide open. This Mr. Lehnsherr – if it is indeed he who is responsible for Hank’s disappearance – shall find me a formidable opponent, and one that ought not to be trifled with.

I shall write again soon.

Your most grateful friend,

Charles Xavier


	3. Chapter 3

[Letter, unsent]

 

My dear, _dear_ Charles,

I am afraid. I can say it to you even if I cannot say it to anyone else. As men of science, we value the truth above all else and the plainest truth that I can conjure up at the present is this: I am afraid and I do not know what I am going to do. 

Erik Lehnsherr is a madman. This too is the truth as I know it. It may not be obvious to the untrained eye but I have encountered too many of Bedlam’s inmates during the course of my studies to think otherwise. Cunning and crafty and – yes, I will say it – _charming_ as he is, there can be no doubt that Erik Lehnsherr is insane. And to think that I am imprisoned here under the same roof as this beast while he roams freely through the house! To say that the feeling is unbearable would be to put it very mildly indeed!

I am ashamed to say that I had not the slightest inkling of his poisonous, hateful madness before I took up residence here; had I suspected it of him, I would have run a hundred miles in the opposite direction and not looked back once. Alas, it seems that I am just as naïve and foolish as you have always feared, Charles, and I walked unhesitatingly into his trap – as peculiar and inexplicable a trap as I have ever encountered, I hasten to mention. I know not what he wants with me. All I know is that his purpose is a loathsome one – why else would a person behave in such a way and incarcerate a man who has been nothing but kind and friendly to him with no other motive but one of friendship and intellectual stimulation?

I will be frank with you, Charles – these fears and misgivings arrived only very lately to me, although I believe them to be all the more convincing for their suddenness. Indeed, to begin with I was very much looking forward to my stay with Mr. Lehnsherr, and I believed his invitation to have been made to me with full and genuine respect and affection. On the day of my arrival to his house, I was greeted with great solicitousness and was shown in by Mr. Lehnsherr himself. ‘My servants have the evening off,’ he explained to me as he carried my bags with him to what was to be my new room. ‘I am a man who values his independence, Mr. McCoy – you will find that we are quite self-sufficient in this household.’

I confess, Charles, that the prospect initially delighted me. Unlike you, I was never raised to be waited upon by others, and the practice has always unsettled me. To know that Mr. Lehnsherr was of a like mind was gratifying, and I was becoming ever eager to cultivate a friendship with him that went beyond scientific research. Alas, how ill Lehnsherr’s supposed independence has served me in retrospect!

This did not occur to me at the time, however, and I found myself settling into my new rooms comfortably, flattered by the luxury that Lehnsherr had seen fit to bestow upon me. The rooms were large and spacious and beautifully adorned with heavy brocade curtains that would block all light if drawn. The bed – a four-poster, such as those that bedeck the bedrooms of your own dear Graymalkin – was also furnished by heavy velveteen curtains, and although you know me to be an early riser, Charles, I was sure from the moment that I laid eyes on the bed that my sleep would be deep and – I shudder now to think of the words that unconsciously crossed my brain with such humour – death-like in the absence of all natural light.

More delightful to me than all this, however, was the presence of a wonderful oaken desk which was situated in the corner of the room. A heavier beast I have never laid eyes on, and I fell in love with it at once. Here, I decided, would be the ideal site for me to write my monograph on the variant plant species of Genosha – and, of course, my letters to you, Charles. I imagined writing to you night after night from this very desk, regaling you with tales of my studies and of my new friend and host … you cannot imagine how greatly this idea appealed to me, at the time.

What I wish to convey to you by all this, Charles, is that my arrival at the house was immensely pleasant and that my rooms, no doubt carefully selected for my approval, were well-furnished and completely to my liking. It was a while before I could bring myself to leave them, to tell the truth, but when the bell sounded I made my down to the dining room, having already dressed for dinner beforehand. Mr. Lehnsherr greeted me at the foot of the stairs and we walked together, making pleasant conversation about the differing climates of our two countries and the consequences of such varied weather. He was much fixated upon this point; indeed, he seemed intrigued to hear that our country suffers from a lack of sunshine and he seemed almost charmed by the knowledge that we often suffer from frequent downpours and fog. At the time I thought it was merely an affectation of his but now I believe it is but one more symptom of his madness. 

Dinner proceeded as usual, and as I had now come to expect, Mr. Lehnsherr did little more than pick at his food, although it was of the usual excellent quality. We sat and talked for a while after, our talk once more turning homewards – I even spoke a little about you, Charles, although I now regret doing so bitterly – and when the clock chimed the late hour we both parted amicably enough, although I ought to have realised that something odd was at hand when Lehnsherr stopped me before I had left the room.

‘Do sleep soundly, Mr. McCoy,’ he said gravely, halting me before I could leave. ‘Indeed, feel free to sleep in as late as you wish. You will find that we are all late risers in this household. I myself find the night time much more invigorating than the mornings and most of my work is done after the sun has set.’

I thanked him politely for his advice, but I did not agree one way or another. You, I know, would very much appreciate Mr. Lehnsherr’s point of view, but I have always been an early riser and I saw no reason to change that even for my host.

‘The reason I mention this,’ Lehnsherr continued, as if aware of what I was thinking, ‘Is that you might hear unexpected noises during the night. Please do not be alarmed by this – I assure you, you have no reason to worry.’

I nodded at this, and thanked him for his concern. He was not finished, however.

‘There is one more thing that I would like to say to you, Mr. McCoy,’ Lehsnherr said, meeting my eyes keenly. I remember that I shivered at that moment; whether due to an evil presentiment or the cold paleness of his eyes, I could not tell you. ‘You might find yourself alone in the house in the morning. Again, do not be alarmed. Your breakfast will be waiting for you in the dining hall and I hope that you will find everything to your liking. You are, of course, free to make use of my house as you would your own. However,’ and here his eyes bored sharply into mine, causing my heart to start beating rapidly although I did not know why, ‘I must ask you that, should you encounter any locked doors in your explorations of the house, that you will respect the boundary that this indicates and avoid those areas of the house as a gentleman would. Do you understand me, Mr. McCoy?’

I nodded simply, unable to do much else. Of course I would have agreed regardless, but the look in Lehnsherr’s eyes convinced me to avoid the forbidden areas of his house at all costs. Even as I write this I cannot help but consider how different the two of us are, Charles – while my first instinct upon hearing Lehnsherr’s warning was to obey at once, I know you well enough to know that his warning would have had the opposite effect on you. Oh, you would have smiled and agreed easily enough, but your curiosity would not have allowed you to stand by after receiving such a temptation. You would have tried, I know, but your good intentions would have ultimately failed in the face of your boundless curiosity.

I digress, of course, but thinking of you allows me to smile, and I am in sore need of good cheer at the moment. 

I am sure that I know what you must be thinking, Charles – everything you have heard so far (my own misgivings aside) gives no indication that Mr. Lehnsherr is anything other than a perfect gentleman. I assure you, however, that I too felt the same as you at this juncture. Indeed, it took me more than a few days before I realised that the man was not entirely what he seemed. 

Four days after my arrival at the house, I awoke with a strange sort of feeling in my breast. The previous three nights had seen me rise untroubled from my sleep, but this particular morning saw me greatly unsettled. I did not know what had caused it, except for some instinctual response from my animal hindbrain that told me that something was awry. I looked about the room but everything seemed just as it had the night before. Not a thing looked to be out of place but still I could not help but sense some sort of disturbance to the air, as if something had intruded upon my personal space in the night time.

This disturbed feeling did not leave me for the entirety of the day. I found myself wandering the corridors of the enormous house in a pensive mood, walking from door to door. Every now and then I would come across a room that was locked but even in my troubled state I did not once care to open one. I realised, however, as the number of locked rooms increased with each step, that I must be drawing ever nearer to Mr. Lehnsherr’s own private apartments. As was usual, I had not seen him for the entirety of the morning. However, the day had waned and darkness had spread across the skies so I was expecting the master of the house to appear at any moment, and indeed, I found myself idly wondering whether I would run in to him as I meandered by. 

As I walked on, I suddenly saw up ahead of me a sliver of light creeping out from underneath a tall, wooden door. The door wasn’t fully shut, merely ajar, and I found myself curiously drawn towards it, almost in spite of myself. I knew that it must be Mr. Lehnsherr himself behind the door and that I should leave him to his privacy, but something within me – I am not sure what – urged me onwards and I found myself drifting towards the door in curiosity. I paused at the threshold, leaning my head against the heavy wood and listening closely. I could hear nothing from within, but I was not surprised by this. I hesitated for a moment, but that strange feeling within me pushed me forward and, as it did so, I pressed my hand against the door and, pushing it open, quietly stepped in. 

There was, from what I could see, nothing unusual about the scene before me. All that I saw upon entering the room was a small and rather cosy little parlour that was lit dimly by the gas lamps on either side of a large hearth where a flickering fire blazed merrily. And there, standing in front of the fire with his back to me, just as I had supposed, stood none other than Mr. Lehnsherr. 

I opened my mouth, then, to call out a greeting and to alert him to my presence in the room. However, I was once again overtaken by the queer feeling that had infected me before and so I held my tongue, instead moving quietly over to stand behind Lehnsherr’s back, in order to examine him unawares and see what he was doing. He was holding himself very still, his attention wholly focused on something that he held carefully in his hands, and it took me a moment to realise that he was reading. From what I could see, it was a letter he was holding in his hands and, from the expression of deep hunger and yearning on his face, I imagined that the letter was from someone that meant a great deal to him.

Feeling unspeakably curious, I leaned forward to see what it was that had affected the normally staid and reserved Mr. Lehnsherr in such a powerful manner. It took me a moment to focus properly upon the letter in his hand. At first glance there was something oddly familiar about it. Then I took a closer look and – I in no way exaggerate, I promise you – all the blood drained from my face. Charles … I do not know how to tell you this for it makes the least sort of sense, but the letters that Lehnsherr held in his hand (for there was more than one letter in his grasp, I could tell that much) – they were _yours_ , Charles. Your letters which I had secreted away in a locked drawer of my new apartments for safekeeping – now in the unworthy hands of Mr. Lehnsherr!

You cannot possibly imagine how infuriated I was by this. You have only ever seen me in the best of tempers Charles (I am always in the best of tempers when you are near me) but I wager that you would not have recognised me in that instant. The thought that someone other than myself was handling your letters – your precious, beloved, _private_ words – and using them for heaven knows what purpose … I was angered beyond belief. Letting out a roar, I surged forward and threw myself at Lehnsherr, looking to seize the letters from his grasp … But then, almost as if he had some sort of sixth sense, he whirled around, moving with a speed I had not realised that he possessed, darting out of my reach, his face screwed up into a vicious, animalistic snarl. 

‘You scoundrel!’ I shouted when I realised he had slipped through my fingers, feeling angry and betrayed and bewildered. ‘Those are my private letters! What is the meaning of this?’

Lehnsherr went still in the face of my anger, his snarl receding, and in that moment I could see the wheels of his mind working as he debated whether to pacify me with petty reassurances or tell me the truth. He seemed to quickly decide to go with the latter option – whether because he was weary of me or because he knew that there was no lie that he could fabricate that would appease me, I could not say.

‘I was curious,’ he said, straightening up and once again inhabiting the cool and collected persona that I was only now coming to realise was nothing more than an invention on his part. ‘I wanted to know more about you and your life outside of Genosha.’

‘And you thought to do this by stealing my letters from my bedside?’ I cried, angrily surging forward and trying to wrest the letters out of Lehnsherr’s grasp. Although I had moved suddenly, he was faster; my hand seized thin air and Lehnsherr was already on the other side of the room, his teeth once more bared at me with extraordinary savagery.

I do not know what came over me then, Charles. All I knew was that one moment I was staring at his snarling face and then the next I had hurtled across the room towards him, my arms outstretched and my own teeth bared like a beast. For a moment my mind blurred and I cannot in all honesty recall what it is that happened in that time. All I know is that, when I was recalled to my senses, Lehnsherr had me in a death-grip, his hands – how cold and strong those hands, like marble! – were clasped tightly around my wrists and Lehnsherr’s face was pressed against mine in the space between my neck and cheek, his breath hot and heavy on my skin. He appeared to be trembling slightly, but, even dazed as I was, I knew that it could not be from the effort needed to restrain me. 

As I struggled to free myself from his grasp, I suddenly became aware of something wet above my elbow. As I glanced down distractedly, I was startled to catch a glimpse of bright scarlet and I realised with surprise that it was blood. 

‘I – I’m bleeding,’ I said dumbly, twisting my neck to look down at my arm. Even now I have no idea what it is that I cut myself on; there were no sharp instruments about and there are surely no human fingernails that are sharp enough to leave such a clean, fine cut.

Lehnsherr didn’t say anything in response to my words but he too was staring at the area above my elbow, looking almost as dazed as I had been. 

‘I—’ Lehnsherr said shakily, still clasped close to my back, his words gusting across the back of my neck. ‘I don’t—’ His hands loosened around my wrists and seemed to gravitate of their own accord towards my bloodied shirt. ‘I-’

‘What are you doing?’ I asked quickly, frozen in place and feeling incapable of moving despite having been released. For some reason that I could not fully understand, I felt an overwhelming thrill of fear run up my spine even though there being nothing overtly threatening about Lehnsherr’s bearing.

He did not reply to my panicked question. Instead he just stared at my arm as if fixated upon it. And then he brought his head downwards—

That was all I could take. I am not ashamed to say it, Charles, but I bolted from his side like a frightened animal. If you were to ask me even now, hours later, I could not tell you what it was that inspired such fear within me at that moment. All I know is that I felt it to the very core of my being that I ought not to be there in his presence at that time, and that to remain there would be to put my life at risk. You know better than most, Charles, that I prize reason above senseless emotional responses, but in that moment all reason seemed to have deserted me and I was a creature of pure instinct. Tearing myself from him, I dashed out of the room, running as fast as my legs could carry me. I felt dizzy, afraid, confused … and so, instead of seeking the door and fleeing this hell-pit as I ought to have, I found my legs directing themselves towards my chambers, fleeing through the halls till I encountered the dear, familiar corridors that housed my room. Speeding through into my apartments, I slammed the doors shut – as if that could keep out the master of the house if he were so inclined to force his way through! – and flew into the bedroom and threw myself under the covers like some poor, frightened child.

I am ashamed of my cowardliness, Charles – I cannot reveal to you the extent of my shame when I realised that I had left behind your precious letters in that villain’s grasp! – but all the same I cannot find it within me to convince myself that I did anything but what was necessary in that moment. I cannot explain it – not rationally – but I know I did what I needed to.

Which brings me to the present moment. I have tried the doors to my apartments – doors that I myself locked and barred not so long ago – but I have discovered that they cannot be moved. It appears that Lehnsherr, unsatisfied with one set of locks on my doors, has joined his own to mine and has, in turn, locked me into my own rooms. And so you see, dear Charles, I am now a prisoner within my apartments, for what reason I shudder to contemplate.

There is little for me to do now but sit here and curse and berate both myself and Lehnsherr, so I have used the time in as productive a manner as I can in writing to you. I have, by this means, succeeded somewhat in calming myself – there is no better cure for a trembling hand, I find, than the forging of a link with someone dear to you. 

You need not fear though, Charles – I have absolutely no intention of remaining here locked away and under the dominion of this madman. I have been plotting my escape from this prettified dungeon even whilst I write to you, and I can tell you now that I am determined to escape – and to do so this very night. With any luck, dear Charles, I shall be away from the castle by sunrise and – God willing – by the time this letter reaches you I should be following fast on its heels, ever anxious to lay my eyes upon your dear, dear face.

I shall keep you in my heart tonight as I make my escape, and I shall contact you once I am safely away from this terrible, fearsome place.

Wish me luck, my friend.

Yours as ever,

 

Henry McCoy


	4. Chapter 4

[Letter, unsent]

 

Charles—

 

It has not been two days since I last put pen to paper but already I find myself writing to you again. I find that it is the only way to truly keep a hold on my sanity.

Such things have happened to me, Charles … things that would turn a gentleman’s blood cold to hear. I do not yet know if I have the strength or the will to repeat them to you – and yet repeat them I must, if you are to understand even a little of the horrors that I have undergone in this wretched place, beset by devils upon all sides and imprisoned by the monster who had the gall to once call me his friend. 

I mentioned just now the devils that inhabit the house, and Charles – you must not think that I exaggerate. For there are more inhabitants of this odious, beautified prison than I had initially suspected, and only a fool would take them to be mere servants (or, at least, not the sort of servants that would walk unchallenged in the house of a goodly, god-fearing man). Devils, they are, and I say this in the plural, because I number my host himself among the demons that walk these halls unfettered. I know not who or what Lehnsherr is – nor do I care to know, if I am fully honest with myself – but his associates … I do not know whether to call them – his slaves or his disciples, but they are without doubt the most horrifying, terrible creatures in God’s existence. Let me relate to you the terrifying circumstances in which I came to see one of them with my own eyes, and maybe then you will agree with me:

As you know from my last letter, I had been locked into my room by Lehnsherr upon fleeing from his presence earlier that evening. I had planned to make my escape from that house in the hours closest to dawn, when it was likely that even the late-sleeping Mr. Lehnsherr would be abed. This I did, and I left my room at the latest possible moment that I could bear to wait, not wanting to encounter Mr. Lehnsherr during any part of my escape.

I had not spent the interim time idly, of course. I had packed away my belongings and had spent my time trying to figure out how to escape from my prison chamber. The solution was not long in coming to me. You may recall that I have a friend by the name of Alexander Summers, who possesses a large number of strange and unusual skills that most gentlemen of situation have no need of. It was Mr. Summers who was my salvation at this juncture and it was by using his advice now that I was able to break free from my prison, and escape out into the maze-like corridors of the house.

You can imagine how my heart pounded as I crept through the house, torn as I was between fleeing and keeping as quiet as I could, while all the time fearing that upon each turn I would run into my captor who would then imprison me once more. I traversed those corridors for what felt like hours, although in reality it can have been only minutes.

It was as I was creeping down one of these hallways (which was, alas, not at all familiar, causing me to fear that I was lost) that, to my surprise and indeed, alarm, I suddenly heard a noise coming from the door immediately to my right. At first I jumped back, my heart thumping furiously in my chest. It was only when nothing else occurred that I was able to summon up the courage to venture nearer the door and press my ear up against it. I listened closely, and then there it was again, the same noise as before. It was quiet, so very quiet – and yet, as I listened, the noise was unmistakeable. It was the sound of weeping.

Alarmed by the thought that I was not the only unfortunate soul to have been imprisoned by Lehnsherr, I immediately called out in a whisper. ‘Hallo! Is anybody there?’

The weeping instantly stopped.

‘Hallo?’ I called again, my heart beating ferociously within my chest. ‘Are you there?’

The crying started up once more.

Swallowing fearfully, I took a step back and regarded the tall, wooden door which blocked the poor unfortunate from view. Then, with a trembling hand, I reached out and clutched the door’s handle, steeling myself before slowly turning it downwards …

Nothing happened. The door was locked.

A sudden wave of anger overpowered me. This poor creature was undoubtedly another of Lehnsherr’s captives, just as I was! Suddenly, I did not care about my fear, about my desire to leave this wretched castle as quickly as possible. All I could think about was that there was another in a similar pitiable circumstance to my own, and that I would do anything to get them out of there so that we could both escape.

‘Wait there!’ I whispered fiercely, leaning close to the key hole. ‘I will get you out! Have no fear!’

I glanced wildly around me, seeking for something to open the door with. I had no sharp or slender instrument with which to pry open the lock, having foolishly left any such implement behind in my haste to leave my room after freeing myself from it. As far as I could see, I had two options: I could either spend valuable time searching for such an implement and then attempt to unlock the door with it, or else I could use force and break it open, fleeing with my fellow prisoner before anyone could respond to the noise. 

I fear I was incapable of subtlety at that point: I chose the latter option.

I calculated the precise angle needed to force the door in while using the least effort and, using one of the heavy iron candlesticks that lined the corridor, I broke the door open.

The door swung an inch inward. Then it stopped. 

I waited for the person on the other side to move forward and come through. However, nothing happened and, after a minute, I found myself feeling slightly impatient and moved to push the door open myself. 

That was when the handle turned and the door slowly began to open.

I cannot tell you what it is that I thought to see in front of me. All I know is that what appeared before my eyes was perhaps the last thing that I would have expected.

In front of me was a woman. That did not surprise me, as I had assumed as much from the nature of the crying that I had heard. But Charles – what faced me upon opening the door was no mere woman. Instead, what I found before me was the most singularly beautiful vision of female beauty that I had ever laid my eyes upon.

And Charles – I was afraid.

I cannot tell you what it was about her that terrified me. Whether it was her whitened skin – almost as white as the dress that she wore – or whether it was her cold expression, or the blazing hunger in her eyes, or the fact that she showed no signs of having been weeping mere seconds before. All I knew – then, as I know now – was that I had made a fatal error in opening up that door, and that I ought to have immediately fled this wretched house when I had the chance, just as I had initially intended to.

The woman – for so I must call her, though I know not what she was – did not move at first. Then again, neither did I, caught as I was in the spell of her eyes, like a moth caught by the burning flame of a candle. We stared at each other, she and I, and neither of us said a word.

But then – with what I can only describe as the grace of the statue of Galatea brought to life – she began to smile, with a slow pull of her lips, and I watched with dread as I saw those lips which I had initially thought to be so white and pale grow blood red and startling against the icy whiteness of her teeth.

I say teeth, Charles, but I have seldom seen sharper instruments in a creature’s mouth. Call them fangs, rather, and you would be nearer the mark – and there were two in particular that stood out for me, descending from each side of her mouth and tapering downwards into a deadly point.

(I did not yet realise the significance of such teeth. Perhaps I still do not, although my suspicions run rife and send tremors of fear down my body. Would that I never had cause to think on such things!)

As I watched, terrified, she lifted one pale white arm and reached out for me. _Come to me_ , she seemed to say, although I heard no voice from her and her lips did not move any further than to reveal her dreaded fangs. _Come into my arms_.

I shall confess to you, Charles – her charms were great. You know that I consider myself to be the soul of loyalty and fortitude, and yet in the face of Her I felt unable to resist the summons. Slowly, as if I were hypnotised, I found myself reaching towards her.

She laughed then – a bright, light little tinkle that ought to have sounded charming and delightful. Instead it only made my blood run cold in my veins. I watched in horror as I walked into her waiting arms, looking on as if an outsider, unable to do anything to stop myself. 

And that is all that I remember, Charles. One moment I was walking into her arms, and the next I was waking up dazed and confused, with every sensation in my body numbed and dulled. Something gleamed on the floor next to me and, reaching up to touch it, I realised it was blood … _my_ blood, and that it was coming from my neck …

Vaguely about my head I heard a roar and shriek and the sound of a thud, as if a blow had been struck. Still dazed, I turned my head with great effort towards the sounds, my bloodied hand still pressed loosely to my throat. Although my eyes were blurred and my concentration eluded me, I was able to make out three figures in the room – the woman in white; a strange, long-haired man whom I had never seen before; and there, his presence filling up all the room, my own host and gaoler, Mr. Lehnsherr. I tried to concentrate on what was happening but even as I did so, I felt my consciousness begin to seep from me, due either to some spell that I had been put under or from the blood loss from my neck. My eyelids drooped and my neck weighed down heavily and I felt myself begin to drift. I believe that I was able to see, however, in those final moments before I passed out, the figure of Mr. Lehnsherr, his face contorted and his lips pulled back in fury, with his hands wrapped around a fine, white porcelain throat …

What happened after that, I cannot say. All I know is that I woke up the next morning, safe and sound in my bed with the covers pulled around me and the curtains drawn. I at once pressed my hand to my throat, but I found no wound there, only roughened and slightly raised skin that could easily have been attributed to the bite of an insect. When I looked around me, I could see my robe hanging on the chair – the same place that I had used to leave it before my hasty packing of it last night – and, when I looked further, I could see evidence of all my things neatly set away in the exact same place that I had once kept them. There was no indication whatsoever of my having packed those things away in my haste to escape.

Feeling like I was in a dream, I got out of bed and walked around the room. Had I dreamt it all? Was I going mad? It seemed like it, at that moment. That I had lost my wits and was suffering from delusions and fantasies and had made up the worst sort of fancies about my host.

But then I walked over to my chamber door and tried to open it and, upon finding it well and truly locked from without, I realised the truth.

I was not dreaming. I was not mad. And I was locked in here with a band of vicious, blood-sucking _monsters_.

And so here I am, Charles, locked into my room, afraid of every noise or creak that reverberates through this house, unable to sleep for fear of attack. My nerves are strained beyond the reasonable endurance of man, and my body is wracked with tremors at the mere thought of the fate that might be awaiting me.

My one consolation is you, Charles. Your picture that I keep close to my heart is like a balm to me, as are these letters that I write, although I am under no illusions that you will ever read them. In writing to you I am able to exorcise these demons as much as I am able and I am grateful for that. If I were to keep all these thoughts and fears in my head then I would surely go mad – if, indeed, I am not so already. If I am not, however, then writing to you is the best sort of panacea – if anything will keep me sane then it is this. Although I loathe myself for it, I cannot help but be grateful to that that monster that he has allowed me the use of pen and paper in this wretched room, even if he denies me my freedom. In this way I shall be able to hold on to my sanity for at least a little while, and know that my wits have not yet abandoned me in this foul and loathsome place.

I hope that you will never have to experience such a fear as I now hold in my breast, Charles. I hope – I hope –

 

[End of letter]


End file.
